


Bonfires

by quartetship



Series: Swim Trunks [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Awkward Conversations, First Time Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 03:43:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2413724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The crackling of a dying fire. Birds calling, more owls than robins as the daylight melted into crisp, cool evening. Bottles clinking, tossed aside and forgotten until they rang against each other underfoot…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bonfires

**Author's Note:**

> A follow-up to 'Swim Trunks', because the world obviously needed that. (Also the second part in what I believe is going to turn into a four-part series. So stay tuned for that.)
> 
> Thanks for the great feedback on Swim Trunks, and on this installment when I originally posted it on tumblr. Hope you guys enjoy it here as well!
> 
> Thanks as always for reading!
> 
> \--

_The crackling of a dying fire. Birds calling, more owls than robins as the daylight melted into crisp, cool evening. Bottles clinking, tossed aside and forgotten until they rang against each other underfoot..._

Jean held Marco's shoulders, swaying slightly as he shifted to sling one leg over Marco's and settle in his lap. Marco held his hips patiently, keeping him at least halfway steady as Jean cursed the clanking bottles under his boot. Once he was satisfied with his seating arrangement, he looked down at Marco and grinned.

"You're really cute when you're blushing."

Marco splayed fingers across his chest, pushing him back playfully. "You're really drunk. And I'm not blushing, it's the alcohol."

"I don't give a shit; you're still cute."

"Yeah, well..." Marco trailed off, suddenly very fixated on the laces of Jean's boot. There were a lot of ways he might've finished his sentence - _"you too", "likewise", "you're just saying that to get in my pants"_ \- the kind of things they only said to each other when no one else was around.

That night had been another one of Connie's Friday night bonfires, another night crowded around a fire drinking whatever beer Reiner managed to smuggle and listening to Connie sing badly and Sasha make fun of him for it. Jean loved sitting around, bullshitting with all of his friends, but he liked it even better once they all _left_ . That's when Marco stopped trying to hide the fact that he was staring, and Jean could stop pretending he _didn't_ want to climb into his best friend's lap.

He pressed his forehead against Marco's, leaning his weight down onto him until he toppled him backward. The log Marco sat on rolled from under him and into the fire, tossing embers in every direction as it stoked the fading flame. Jean laced his fingers behind Marco's head, holding it off the ground as he swirled his thumbs through short dark hair. Marco stared at him for a long moment before finally returning his lazy grin, slipping his own hands into Jean's back pockets.

"That stuff the guys brought was good," Jean smiled, licking his lips to make his point. Marco nodded and pulled him down for a kiss.

"Really good."

Jean wasn't sure if he was talking about the pumpkin flavored beer or the way his lips still tasted of it, but he hummed in agreement and relaxed against Marco's chest. Marco slid hands around his waist, under his open jacket. He pushed it halfway off of Jean's shoulders, Jean sitting back up to shrug it the rest of the way off. He pulled Marco sharply up after him by the collar of his own coat, clawing at it as Marco crushed their lips together again. Before Jean so much as stopped for air, he tugged Marco's shirt up over his shoulders too, pulling back with a satisfied grin to see him shirtless and breathless. Marco wasted no time sending Jean's shirt to join his own discarded clothing in the pile they'd started a few feet away. The kicked their shoes in that direction too, and Marco laid back onto the leaf-strewn ground, pulling Jean after him.

For the first few weeks after The Night With The Pool Thing, they tread lightly around each other, always worried about being the first to initiate another awkward make out. But after about a dozen half-assed hand jobs and more than a few instances of kissing each other breathless right up until their parents or friends walked in the door, they'd become pretty skilled at getting right to the point with each other. Bonfire nights were a little different, though - there wasn't a rush, or a chance of being heard in the little wooded spot it took twenty minutes of driving just to find. They could take their time, and _god_ , did Marco look good half dressed and illuminated by the soft light of the fire.

The warmth of the dying flame licked at every inch of skin that wasn't covered, every inch not already being devoured by the heat between them. Skin against skin, it was easy to forget that the evening breeze carried the chill of early October. Jean trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses over Marco's shoulder and chest, up his neck until he reached his ear and moaned softly, _purposely_. Marco shifted under him and sucked in a sharp breath as Jean let his fingers wander down to the belted waist of his pants.

"Warm,"Jean whispered, referring to a lot of things at once as he palmed Marco's obvious arousal through his still buttoned jeans. Marco snapped his hips up into Jean's touch and gave a shaky groan, lip quivering as Jean slid a finger under his belt buckle, popping it loose in one quick move. Marco arched his back to let Jean tug and toss the belt into the clothing pile. When Jean turned back to finish his work freeing him from his pants, Marco's breath hitched in a way that sounded decidedly different, and he all but _froze_.

Noticing the pause, Jean stopped his hands and dropped them to the side of Marco's legs. "S'matter?" Marco didn't answer, and after a moment, Jean pulled his hands away entirely.

"Do you... not want this?"

Marco shook his head quickly, but then seemed to think better of it before finally answering. "I just... don't wanna stop here. I mean I don't want this to be _it_. I'm tired of feeling weird about this, Jean."

"I don't - what do you mean?"

"I'm sick of us doing this," - he motioned between them - "every time we're alone and then... worrying if you're gonna show up at school on Monday with a girlfriend." Marco laid an arm across his face as soon as he finished his sentence; Jean quickly pulled it away.

"I - are you serious?" He held Marco's wrist. "Marco, I thought it was pretty obvious that we have a... thing. Don't we?" He hadn't been even slightly concerned about losing whatever it was he had with Marco, but the doubt was contagious, and suddenly the cool autumn air chilled his bare skin. He shivered, and Marco brought warm hands up to his sides, rubbing comforting circles from his ribs to his hips. When he spoke again it was warmer, too.

"You've just never _said_ anything."

Jean shrugged, a sheepish grin beginning at the corner of his lips. "Well neither did you."

"Well, I'm usually a little busy when we're alone," Marco laughed, squeezing Jean's legs. Jean rolled his eyes, and his hips - just enough to see Marco squirm beneath him.

"I can cop that same excuse, y'know."

"Right, well. How about we talk about our lame-ass excuses later?"

"Oho, _now_ you're a man of action." Jean trailed fingers down Marco's chest, his stomach, the deep lines of his hips. "Why the sudden change, Braveheart?"

"You're still sitting on me. Can only ignore that for so long."

Jean rolled his hips again and grinned. "Duly noted." Before he could make a move to back away and slow things down, Marco seized him roughly, wrapping hands over his thighs and grinding up into him. Jean rocked against him, murmuring quiet curses at the friction between them. No sooner had his fingers fallen to Marco's waist than they were flying to undo his buttons and zipper.

When Jean finally managed to lift Marco's hips enough to pull his boxers down after his pants, Marco sighed at the feeling of cool air against hot flesh. The fire behind them crackled and popped as the flames slowly rose, punctuating his soft, stuttered whimpering as Jean wrapped fingers around him and began a slow stroke.

Jean wasn't usually the type of guy who enjoyed doing things for other people. He wasn't known to go out of his way to make anyone but himself happy, but that's because no one knew about he and Marco. The attention he gave to pleasing Marco came from an almost unquenchable desire to see him the way he'd been that first night, breathless and needy and _loving_ every second of it. Nothing made Jean happier - or harder - than hearing his name fall from Marco's lips between shaky sighs.

"You're fucking gorgeous, you know that?" He didn't expect Marco to respond; he was too wrapped up in _feeling_ , too far gone. But he loved the way his words pulled a groan from low in Marco's throat. He tightened his grip and twisted his wrist, his movements quickening.

Marco met each stroke with an eager thrust, still filled with the same disbelieving bliss he had every time Jean touched him. For all the heat between them, Marco also had a tendency to create a mess of fucking _feelings_ every time they were together, and that night the jumbled, smoldering mess seemed to fully catch fire. He wanted Jean as much as he was wanted in return, evident in the way he reached up to swirl his thumb across Jean's cheek adoringly, even as Jean was pumping him at a maddening pace. The sounds he made, the way he looked - it was too much for Jean's mind to process, and yet he still needed more. He sat back on his heels, breathing a stuttered question and glancing between his stilled hand and Marco's face.

"Can I... with my mouth?"

He could hardly focus on Marco's face, but he wagered that the dazed flush he saw there probably reflected his own. Marco nodded hastily, his only other response a squeaky groan that barely escaped him before Jean was mouthing at the sharp line of his hip.

Appreciating the tan line Marco's swim trunks had left from their summer in the pool - and the pool _shed_ \- Jean licked a searing line from one hip to the other, then circled his mouth downward in a pattern of messy, scattered kisses. He tried not to think about the fact that he'd _definitely_ never done this before, because he really fucking _wanted_ to. And Marco trusted him, so Jean proceeded with as much confidence as he could manage.

It was slow at first, not their usual frenzied pattern. He wrapped fingers tight around the base and slid his lips up to take in just a fraction of him, mouthing at the head before closing his lips and sucking. Swirling his tongue gently at the slit, he tasted the salty precome he was so familiar with teasing Marco about when it soaked through his boxers and shorts every time they messed around. This time he fucking _relished_ it, hummed his appreciation of the way it slicked the glide of his tongue over Marco's cock all the more.

Marco all but _screamed_ his name, and Jean remembered that it was his first time doing this too. The way he trembled under Jean's hands made Jean nervous - _was he doing it right?_ \- but when he glanced up Marco was biting his lip and nodding a response to a question he hadn't even had to ask. It bolstered him; Jean slowed his pace and let Marco feel the slow drag of lips stretched around him, sliding down his length an inch at a time.

"That's fucking _incredible,_ Jean. _God..."_ Seeing Marco - usually well spoken and polite - coming apart so quickly was _insanely_ arousing, and Jean shifted his own legs to straddle one of Marco's, grinding into his thigh as he found a steady rhythm bobbing his head.

"Yeah?" Jean pulled away for a moment and hummed, dropping back down to take more of Marco into his mouth before he could respond properly. Marco whimpered, one hand pressed to his own forehead as he raked the other through Jean's hair.

"Yes, good, _so good."_

Jean slid the head of Marco's cock over his lips, drinking in the way it made him gasp and roll his hips frantically. "Like makin' you feel good. Like seeing you - hearing you. Like _you_." He flattened his tongue, drawing it up Marco's shaft and back down again until Marco was bucking up against his mouth, wordlessly begging for more. Jean was happy to oblige.

When his jaw began to ache, Jean reluctantly pulled back just enough to look up at Marco, hand slick with saliva as he pumped him in a broken rhythm. He'd never seen anything quite as _perfect_ as the way Marco looked then, disheveled and desperate for him. He propped himself on his elbows to see him better, kicking another chunk of wood into the fire and bringing it fully back to life.

"Wanna do this with you all the time, Marco. Every fucking day."

"God Jean, me t-too..." Marco rasped, his voice barely recognizable. He tightened the hold of his fingers in Jean's hair and nearly choked on a gasp, back deeply arched as he hissed through a warning. "Jean - 'm gonna come, baby."

At that, Jean returned his mouth to Marco, taking in as much of him as he could and letting Marco's erratic thrusts do the work for him. When Marco gasped and stilled his hips, Jean felt his release - hot and thick on his tongue - and moaned around him at the knowledge that _he'd_ made it happen. Marco was still panting heavily when Jean sat back on his heels, and made a show of swallowing everything he'd been given. Marco groaned and pulled him down against his chest, kissing his sweat slicked face and hair.

After a few minutes of breathing in the fresh air and each other, Jean shivered again at the feel of the breeze against damp skin, and Marco fumbled blindly to reach one of their coats from the pile beside them. He draped it over Jean like a blanket, pulling their bodies together again so they could share the warmth. Jean tipped his face up and kissed along Marco's jaw, stopping at his chin to play with the scruff there until Marco finally looked back at him.

"So... _baby_ , huh?" Jean teased, nipping lightly at the stubble under Marco's lip.

Marco might have blushed, but in the flickering light it was hard to tell. "I didn't - I was just kinda caught up in--"

Jean cut him off, pressing a few fingers against his lips and then replacing them with his own. "It's cool." He tugged at Marco's bottom lip, grinning as he pulled back to see his mouth pink and swollen from kissing. "I kinda like it."

"S'at so?" Marco smiled, slow and satisfied. "C'mere then, _baby."_ He rolled them over and straddled Jean's hips, still smiling as he popped the button on Jean's pants to return the favor. Never in his life had Jean been so happy to pick leaves out of his hair.

Jean drove them home that night, after dousing their fire and deciding that he was definitely the more sober between them. After less than a minute of deliberation he agreed that he would crash at Marco's house, probably for the entire weekend, since his parents would be out of town until Sunday night. They didn't sleep until morning, talking between kisses until the sun began to rise, fingers laced when they weren't wandering over warm skin. When Jean finally drifted off, it was thinking about the night and smiling to himself, knowing there would be more like it, now that things were a little clearer between them.

There would be more bonfires, and Marco would be there with him to share the warmth.


End file.
